


Gestalt Leader Problems

by andrean182



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Cave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrean182/pseuds/andrean182
Summary: The gestalt leaders get trapped in a deep cave, and have a talk about them and their team. And a vent for their gestalt issues.





	Gestalt Leader Problems

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever been in a team at work or school or anywhere as a leader? You work your best to organise your team but they all turned out to be more useless than you expect? Yeah I was thinking stuff along the lines of stupid teammates and boom this was born.
> 
> You’re asking where is Scrapper? He was staying in the _Victory_ with Hook because someone has to be prepared when the sick arrives, right?
> 
> Maybe it’s a little bit ooc, forgive me please

“Vortex, get back to fighting those Aerialbots!” Motormaster heard Onslaught barked from behind a rock, holding back a growl. He himself was shooting at a green Autobot while providing a cover for Breakdown who was having a panic attack in a middle of a fight.

This wasn’t a raid gone wrong or Megatron attacked the Autobot HQ, but more like a Con and a Bot met in the middle of the desert, and the next thing he knew, Megatron told them to mobilise, then they had a battle.

He was relieved that it wasn’t one of his teammates, though.

On the corner of his optic, he saw the blue leader of the Protectobots attacked Onslaught behind the rock, who yelped and growled. He heard some shots being fired then followed by a shout, “Motormaster, get here and help me!”

Motormaster replied, without even looking back, “Handle your own problem! I have mine!”, and fixed his vision back to the flying form of Silverbolt. When the jet was close enough, he threw his guns to Breakdown and jumped to catch him. He didn’t hear the terrified shriek that the race car let out and kept gripping the jet as he punched him in the cockpit. Silverbolt’s field radiated surprise, and his frame shook.

“Get off me!”

Silverbolt did a barrel roll and Motormaster lost his punches, instead he gripped the other’s wings as apparently Silverbolt lost his control too. They spun in a half circle and the jet’s wings rattled, making the truck’s hand lost its grip.

Motormaster barked, field waving in alarm, “Pull the frag up!” He didn’t want to hit the rocks, no thank you. Last time, it took days to fix the dents.

“Easier said than done!” Silverbolt barked back. “Get off me first!”

Gripping the jet’s body, he fixed his position so that he was on top of the other. “Either you crash or we crash!”

Silverbolt did a barrel roll again, and Motormaster held back the urge to vomit. “Get the frag _off_ me!”

“Watch where you going, afthead!” the truck shouted when he saw where they were going to. “Pull up! Pull the frag u—”

His head hit a rock, then another, then everything turned black and his back hit another rock. Motormaster groaned, the earth around them shattered and vibrated. He heard some transformation sound, some rocks hit his legs, his field flared, and the next thing he knew he ended up on his back.

Ugh, his head hurt.

He lay there for a minute or two, calming his spinning head. The rocks stopped falling, and he pulled his legs to remove them from his frame.

“Stupid truck! I told you to get the frag _off_ me!”

“Shut up!” He gritted his teeth and gripped his still spinning head. “You’re a lousy flyer.”

Silverbolt threw a rock at him. “I’m not when I don’t have a tonne of worthless mass on my back!”

Motormaster prodded his elbow and lay back. “ _Shut up_ , will ya?”

“Now thanks to you we’re stuck in a cave!”

“Just a cave.” His head found a small rock and he used it as a pillow. He should get his head checked when he got back. “At least it’s not the bottom of the se—”

Someone hit him with rocks, and he knew they weren’t coming from Silverbolt. He groaned and yelped when he felt metal hit metal, and the rocks above were falling into his frame again.

Primus.

“Hey, watch it! I wasn’t the one who flew and hit the rocks!”

He lay back again, the disorientation getting worse. He heard some groans and mumbles and curses being thrown out.

Stupid rocks, why couldn’t they just stay above?!

“Worthless Autobot, look at what you’ve done!”

“Well I didn’t throw my gun aimlessly and let it hit the rock!”

Motormaster growled. “Shut _up!_ ”

The noise went down, he dared to open his optics and when the dust was starting to settle, he couldn’t see anything.

Had his optics malfunctioned? Useless Autobot, he’d make him pay after he’d done with this!

Apparently it wasn’t his optics, it was just _very_ dark in the cave. Silverbolt took out a torchlight from his subspace and light filled the space.

“Silverbolt?!” the black truck heard a voice that didn’t belong to Silverbolt.

A little pause. Silverbolt replied, his field scraping a bit with Motormaster’s at his feet. “Don’t ask why.”

Sitting up, he saw two Autobots were sitting in front of him, a little bit too close for his taste. He couldn’t spread his legs comfortably without touching either one of them. “What the heck are you doing here?!” he asked the blue truck. It was Hot Spot, wasn’t it? Great, stuck in a cave with two Autobots, with no weapon and weakened.

“What the heck are _you_ doing in here?!”

He turned his head left, and saw Onslaught staring at him with his cracked visor. His mask was gone, lips set in a frown.

“I was going to ask the same to you.” Silverbolt said.

Motormaster growled at him, Silverbolt threw him a rock. “I was talking to Onslaught, you oaf!”

The black truck ignored him, instead he asked Onslaught. “What happened to your mask?”

“That imbecile knocked it off.” He said while moving a few rocks to make more room.

Hot Spot kicked him in the foot. “ _You_ were the one who knocked mine first!” Then he turned to Silverbolt. “Call reinforcements. I refuse to be trapped here with these two mindless machines.”

Motormaster’s shout of “Hey!” was covered by Ons’ response with that condescending tone of his. “For your information, you are machines too.”

Motormaster threw Onslaught the rock that Silverbolt threw. Onslaught growled. “Stop that! And move!”

“There’s no more fragging space left!”

Silverbolt sighed seeing them. He turned to Hot Spot, “I tried, no response. I think we’re too deep inside the cave.”

“I wonder who did that.” Motormaster cut him off. Silverbolt kicked him, earning a hiss.

“And then you came in, closing the entrance.” continued Silverbolt.

All four of them turned their heads to the entrance where they came in. It was filled with rocks, lots of them, and a too large boulder. Apparently they had made a rockslide.

Motormaster turned on his front lamps to get a better view, but at the other’s protests, he turned them off again.

“When did you even make a call?” the black truck asked.

Silverbolt sighed, and hugged his knees. “When you’re too busy being Princess Sleeping Beauty.”

“My head was spinning!”

“Gee, I wonder what caused that.”

Onslaught sighed. “Both of you, stop! That’s not going to make the situation better.”

Silverbolt glowered at him, then spoke with the snidest tone he could muster. “You think?”

Onslaught growled. “This whole predicament wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been because of your action, Autobot.”

Hot Spot threw him a rock and it hit him in the chest. “You stop that.” He ignored the death glare he was given and lay back on the rock wall, field rolling slowly and when it met with Silverbolt’s, he could sense the other’s distress. He shuffled closer to the jet, who looked like having difficulties to sit comfortably with his wings scraping nearly every surface, and patted his back.

At the silent pat on the back, Silverbolt looked at Hot Spot’s soft smile. He looked pretty dirty with dents and scratches on his chest and abdomen. But when he looked at all of them, they all had some damages.

“Tch, weak Autobot.” Motormaster spat condescendingly, looking at the intimate gesture. Both Autobots turned their head to him. “Give me one good reason not to beat you to pulp right now.”

“One, you don’t have your weapon.” Silverbolt answered. “Two, you’re badly damaged, and you can’t even stand here. Three, Onslaught isn’t with your opinion. Four, we’re better together than to start hitting each other right now.”

“I don’t envy you for your loneliness.” added Hot Spot.

Onslaught just sighed, then grinned when he looked at the truck. “If you want to get a pat on the back too, you can just ask.” He moved his hand to pat the other.

Instinctively, Motormaster shuffled away and growled. “Keep your fraggin’ hands to yourself!”

Hot Spot chuckled. Onslaught snickered, and pulled his hand back and lay on the wall. Motormaster mumbled something inaudible.

Silverbolt looked at the room again. Motormaster was sitting with his legs over his chest in front of him, his face emotionless as he looked at the ground. He guessed the other was just too annoyed to annoy someone. On his right, Hot Spot was leaning on the wall, hands above his crossed legs, his optics closed. Onslaught also leant back on the wall with his legs crossed, his visor a dim red.

Fortunately, the room was tall enough so that Onslaught’s cannons didn’t scrape the ceiling above. He imagined it would be very uncomfortable, like the way his wings scraped the wall until he had to move slightly to the right and although he got closer to Hot Spot, his foot also got closer to Motormaster’s.

“How long do you think will it take,” Hot Spot asked nobody in particular. “before they realise that we’re not there?”

Onslaught sighed. “Probably quite some time. I don’t suppose that they even know we’re not there.”

Silverbolt probed the gestalt link, and frowned when he couldn’t feel any of the others. He then turned to Hot Spot. “Can you feel your gestaltmates?”

Hot Spot raised his ridge for a moment, then groaned. “No. They’re too far away, and the rock’s blocking their signal. Anyone?”

Motormaster answered with a quiet “no”.

“I don’t even have my link opened since forever.” Onslaught replied with a casual air.

Hot Spot’s field expanded slightly in surprise, and so did Silverbolt’s. “What?! That’s crazy!”

“How can you even close it that long?!”

Motormaster snorted.

“We’re not like you, Autobot.” Onslaught patiently explained. “Having some strangers in your head was _not_ a pleasant experience.” Just when the two were about to ask another question, he held his hand in the air. “No question.”

Hot Spot whined. Motormaster chuckled.

“I wonder how deep are we from the surface.” Silverbolt sighed and lay back on the wall too, careful of his wings. “Any idea on how to get out of here?”

That made Motormaster perk up. “Did you just seriously ask that? Even if I had an idea, I wouldn’t even want to tell it.”

The jet’s field waved slightly in annoyance. “Suit thyself. Onslaught?”

“I second Motormaster’s answer.”

Silverbolt deflated a bit. “Okay then. I’ll remember that when I’m out of here.”

Hot Spot let their field mingle, his own radiating reassurance and comfort. The jet leaned into the stimulation.

Onslaught looked at him. “Do you currently have an idea, Autobot?” This time, the brown truck sounded genuinely curious.

“Well, no, but—can you just call me by my name?”

“Fine. Silverbolt, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“If you had an idea, Silverbolt, I’d like to listen.”

They went silent after that.

Hot Spot let his field roll over a bit and broke the silence after a few moments. “You know, it’s actually not so bad down here. There’s not much room but it’s an improvement from having too much room.”

“Including getting physical?” Onslaught replied.

The blue truck stared at him questioningly. Onslaught stared back and shrugged.

“Gross.” Motormaster said, throwing his hands in the air. “If you two want to fuck, don’t do it her—ow!”

“Bad con.” Silverbolt threw him a rock.

“Stop throwing rocks!”

Hot Spot chuckled at them, then caught sight of Onslaught’s emotionless face. Was he really thinking about fragging?

Silverbolt’s amusement was clear in his field, though. “Just so you know, I have a lot here.”

“Lot of what? Stamina?”

This time, Hot Spot threw him a rock, making him yelp.

Onslaught exited his “deep thinking” mode and snorted at the childish behaviour. “You younglings really need to grow up.”

“Younglings?!”

“What?”

“Aren’t we all of the same age?” Hot Spot questioned. “I mean, bar a few years here and there. I’m three years old, Silverbolt’s five. You?”

Motormaster shrugged. “Five.”

Everyone then looked at Onslaught, who simply threw his gaze and looked at them back. “What?”

“How old are you, Onslaught?”

“1358 years old.”

Silverbolt raised his ridge. “That’s old, but Optimus Prime and Megatron are _way_ older.”

“I used _Cybertronian_ years. How much have they taught you again?” he facepalmed. “Approximately that’s four and a quarter million Earth years.”

Motormaster asked. “Are you really _that_ old?”

“Of course.”

Everyone stared at him as if one of his arms had fallen off. He stared back.

“Well, admittedly the frame is new, and I spent maybe three million years or more—750 in Cybertronian years—in stasis.” He shrugged as if that wasn’t a big deal.

“Stasis?” Hot Spot asked curiously.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Onslaught looked away, and Hot Spot felt anger and upset when the truck’s field scraped against his for a second.

“You must’ve done something to spend that many years in stasis.” Silverbolt remarked.

Onslaught growled. “I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Silverbolt instead, asked Motormaster in a low voice. “What’s stasis?”

Motormaster rolled his optics. “Are you stupid or just dumb? It means he’s been non-operational for that long. Sleeping, maybe.” The jet nodded and went back to the other two.

“At least,” said Hot Spot, continuing his conversation with the truck. “you don’t have your teammates bothering you too much.”

The truck chuckled sarcastically. “What do you know about your teammates bothering you, Hot Spot? My team is a pain in the aft to manage.”

“Well, I have to keep Blades away from Slingshot or else they’ll going to destroy the base. Isn’t it, Silverbolt?”

Silverbolt nodded. “They’re like a finger and a button. Always pushing whenever they’re together.”

“Vortex sees everyone else as buttons.” Onslaught argued, sighing. “I have to keep him away from everyone else most of the time, including me for my own sanity.”

The Autobots stared at him. Motormaster tsk’ed.

“And they say Breakdown’s the craziest.”

“Breakdown?”

“Unlike you all, I have to almost _always_ keep him away from pretty much everyone else. His paranoia really bothers us sometimes. Imagine that during a mission, or even getting his own ration.”

“That’s tough.” Hot Spot asked him. “How do you manage it?”

Motormaster shrugged. “Sometimes I go with him, sometimes he just needs a pat on the back—Onslaught, no—, sometimes I just leave him in our common room.”

Onslaught rolled his optics, but leaned forward in interest nonetheless. Silverbolt looked at the black truck curiously. “Leave him? Isn’t that… rather counterproductive?”

“Well, I tell him that there’s a camera in the corner that watches his movement. That way he’ll be out on his own.”

“Clever.” Onslaught remarked, snickering at him. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”

Motormaster growled.

“That was a compliment.” Ons snorted.

Silverbolt snickered at them, then said to Onslaught. “At least you don’t have any flyers on your team. I mean, Blast Off doesn’t look like he’s going to crash whenever he lost his attention, unlike Fireflight.”

“Maybe he doesn’t, but Brawl does.”

“Brawl?” Motormaster blinked. “I thought he’s the smart one, you know, those things he does with explosives.”

“Did you see him on the battlefield earlier?”

“…no.”

“He was too busy being upside down. Fragger even forgets how to transform.” Onslaught sighed at the mental image. “He was driving straight into a rock formation and he didn’t even fragging see it. Good thing I wasn’t there to help him.”

Silverbolt chuckled. “Why is that a good thing?”

“Because I know I won’t.”

“Ooh, yeah I know how _that_ feels!” Motormaster laughed. “Sometimes Dead End makes this mistake again and again and I just left him in his ‘inevitable, hopeless misery’. It’s really not like I fucking care or anything.”

“Ergh, language.” Hot Spot cringed.

Motormaster snickered at him. “Come here and fucking tell me you’ve never used those kinds of shit before.”

“Uh, not really…?”

“Cybertronian expletives we can handle; the _Ark_ ’s full of bots anyway.” Silverbolt explained, protecting Hot Spot’s poor spark to his protests. “Human expletives, on the other hand, they just feel harsher. Hot Spot’s been raised as a good boy, you know—”

“Hey!”

“—so he’s not really used to using those kinds of word. Please be gentle with him.”

Onslaught laughed. Motormaster guffawed.

“Done mocking me?” Hot Spot said to a snickering Silverbolt, unimpressed. He frowned at the amusement in the other’s field and shoved him softly.

“Oh, come on! That gives the laughs.”

“You sure you never said those words?” asked Motormaster breathlessly.

Onslaught, calmed down, chuckled at Hot Spot. “And here I thought you’re a total opposite of me.”

“Oh, are you very pure then, my highness?” the blue truck mocked in slight disgust.

“No one is, but I must admit a little bite from time to time _is_ healthy.” Onslaught snickered, Motormaster laughed again at those words. “Well, I don’t overuse them so I don’t think I’m as healthy as Motormaster. Or at least as healthy as his definition of the word.”

Motormaster abruptly stopped laughing. “The fuck?”

The brown truck chuckled. Hot Spot looked away from the words, and Silverbolt patted his back. “Ssh! I told you to be gentle with him!”

“Silverbolt that’s not helping.” Hot Spot said, muffled by his facepalming.

“So, compare the worst?” asked Motormaster instead, shrugging as he said so.

Silverbolt stared at him, “Well, that’s a good way to pass the time.” Then he lay back and sighed. “Let’s see… Slingshot and Fireflight have been covered. Skydive acts like he’s the smartest of us five all the time, and Air Raid… let’s just don’t start on Air Raid.”

“What’s with Air Raid?” Ons asked curiously.

“He means well, I’m sure he is, but he’s just…”

“An asshole?” Motormaster supplied.

Silverbolt threw him a rock, which Motormaster caught with a grin. Hot Spot cringed again while Ons rolled his optics.

“He’s just… sometimes I don’t know which one is worse, him or Slingshot. He’s the idea maker and Slingshot always agrees with his ideas.” He pulled his legs and hugged them. “Or most of the time he does.”

“At least you only have one source of problems. I have two, or three, depending on how you see it.” grumbled Motormaster. “Drag Strip always takes everything as a competition, even when it’s as simple as taking his own ration. Wildrider is pretty much a wild card. Dead End can be so insignificant sometimes.”

“Didn’t know you had that word. Insignificant.” Silverbolt joked.

Motormaster threw the rock, but instead it hit Hot Spot with a yelp.

Onslaught stared at him. “Drag Strip takes everything as a competition, yes? Maybe he should stick with Brawl sometimes.” He turned his head and said more to himself. “Maybe Vortex too but the Pit knows what’s he going to do.”

“I’m not letting none of my teammates near yours.” The black truck stared sternly at Ons.

Onslaught crossed his arms. “Put them in a room then see for yourself, then you can tell me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Are you Drag Strip?”

Hot Spot chuckled, Silverbolt grinned.

“Whatever,” Motormaster said instead, and turned his head to the others. “Dead End always says that ‘it’s inevitable’ and ‘it has come’, stuff like that. And they’re very discouraging.”

Ons snickered when he felt the exasperation in the black truck’s field when it ground with his. He was about to make another remark, but decided not to. _Discouraging_ , he chuckled to himself. Instead he asked. “And how do you deal with that?”

“I punch him.”

Hot Spot straightened up, surprised. “You what?!”

“I punch him, or them.” He shrugged as if that wasn’t a big deal. “Depends though, sometimes I kick him. Or them.”

“What a quick fix.” Silverbolt rolled his optics.

“We’re not like you, Autobot softies.”

“B-but how is _that_ even a fix?!”

“It can be, Hot Spot.” Ons sighed. “Sometimes when you’re just too tired from a mission or assignment, then you come back to the HQ only to find your teammates acting like frag, a few punches can help.” He explained, again. “Or, you know, a few kicks. And it also helps you to assert dominance over them.”

“Oh and now you’re on my side? Very glad to have you.”

“Your words lack any punch.” Ons bit him back.

Silverbolt mused. “Assert dominance… I guess that would work.”

“Silverbolt, no!” Hot Spot pulled him, “Don’t do it!”

“I’m fine, I won’t.”

“And a quick fuck would help too.” Motormaster continued.

Silverbolt kicked him. Hot Spot threw him a rock. Onslaught chuckled.

“You are the worst gestalt leader in existence.” The jet remarked.

“It can help, too, you know. And it—”

“Shut up, Onslaught!” the blue truck told him. “We’re not talking about it here!”

Onslaught lay back on the wall, put his hands behind his head, and elongated his legs, his grin in place. “Suit yourself. It doesn’t have to be non-consensual as you might think.”

Hot Spot threw him a dirty look.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me that you never _did_ your team.” Motormaster chimed in. “Are you even a virgin?”

“…uh, I’m not?”

“Guys stop.” Silverbolt tried to stop them, waving his hands over his chest.

Motormaster guffawed that loud laughter of his. “Bet Optimus enjoyed you.” Onslaught chuckled along.

“Change the topic!” Hot Spot threw him a rock with full force. Silverbolt nearly chuckled when he felt a huge embarrassment in the other’s field, but he held it in.

“Okay, okay. You’re the youngest so that only makes sense.” said the black truck, his laughter died down. “Let’s get to you then.”

“Uh, okay.” Hot Spot squirmed, pulling his legs and hugged them. “We’ve talked about Blades. He’s the worst ever example for a helicopter—”

“No. That’s Vortex.” Ons cut him off. “Believe me.”

Hot Spot stared at him, then huffed in agreement. “Fine, but he’s still too uncontrollable at times. Last time I leave him in our room alone he nearly destroyed it.”

“Tch. Brawl destroyed our room.”

“Did he manage to put high-grade cubes on the ceilings?”

“Well, no.”

“Then Blades is still worse.” Hot Spot crossed his arms, a small smug smirk in place before it fell in confusion. “Why am I happy about that?”

Motormaster chuckled. “So, what’s with the other three?”

“Groove, Streetwise, and First Aid?” the blue truck shuffled his legs. “They’re fine I guess. I mean, Streetwise can be a jerk sometimes but he does that for the good of the team. That time he made a cardboard monster and placed it in the _Ark_ ’s common room? Everyone was surprised, even Optimus, and no one was angry, it’s the opposite.” He played with a small rock absent-mindedly. “Groove isn’t a problem, and First Aid is Ratchet’s student, so that makes him good if he doesn’t want to face Ratchet’s wrath.”

“He’s Ratchet’s student?” Ons asked.

“Yeah. It was his own request.”

Motormaster moved a bit closer to Ons because of the rocks. “That must be tough.”

“Not as tough as I thought, really. But yeah.”

The black truck yawned. “So, your team’s not all that exciting.”

“It saves me the headaches I guess.” said Hot Spot sheepishly. “So, Onslaught?”

“You know my team already. The most unstable and uninhabitable area of the Decepticons.” Ons shrugged.

“Details.” Silverbolt said, together with Hot Spot’s “Come on!”

The brown truck chuckled. “Fine. Brawl is dumb. I can’t find any word to describe him better than that.” He scratched his head. “Wait, no. He knows how to make explosives and some physics, so yeah, maybe not that dumb.”

“Explosives? As in bombs?” asked Silverbolt.

“Yes. Those kinds of stuff. Swindle is too busy counting his money. Vortex is… well, Vortex. Blast Off is my second in command, the least problematic of them all.”

Hot Spot leaned forward. “You have a second in command?”

“A good strategist strategizes.” He shrugged again. “Also, maybe because unlike the other three, Blast Off actually _can_ get something done as expected. With Vortex it’s pretty much anyone’s guess, Swindle is often too occupied to even do things, and Brawl…” he trailed off. “I don’t trust him with anything.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch indeed, Silverbolt.”

“Is there any crazy thing your team has done, Onslaught?” Hot Spot asked him.

“Hmm, let’s see.” Ons scratched his chin. “You ever have one of your team trying to sell the rest for parts? No?”

Everyone stared at Onslaught.

“Wait what?”

Ons shrugged and leaned forward, hugging his legs. “Swindle once tried to sell the rest of our gestalt for parts. And he would’ve been successful if it wasn’t for Starscream.”

“That’s… too extreme.” Hot Spot remarked.

“So, your team is a total douche, Onslaught?” Silverbolt asked him, leaning on the wall, optics still staring at the Ons’ figurative second head.

“Douche? Nah.” Onslaught waved his hand dismissively, too amused by the reactions. “They’re like a pack of candies that’s fallen into mud. You know which ones you can’t— _shouldn’t_ eat but you know you have to eat them nonetheless.”

“Well okay, but you’re a lot older than us, so that’s kinda fair.” Hot Spot snickered, then his expression fell. “Wait, does that mean our team’s gonna be crazy too?!”

They stared at Hot Spot, then to each other, then laughed.

“I’ve just spilt everything, haven’t I?” Onslaught chuckled. “Now you know everything about my team.”

Motormaster shrugged. “They’ve been spilling too, so that’s fair.”

“Just, you know, keep this amongst ourselves.” Hot Spot lay on the wall. “Us gestalt leaders.”

“I could spend my time like this rather than babysitting my team.” Silverbolt smiled tiredly. “Why aren’t you being aggressive to us anyway? Unlike Mr. Angery here.” when Onslaught stared at him, he held back his own discomfort. “I mean, just curious.”

Motormaster snorted. “Dumbest nickname I have ever heard.”

Instead, Onslaught just lay back and unfolded his legs. “I’ve had more missions with Vortex than I can count—make room a bit, will you?—this is nothing compared to those. At least I know none of you will grope me when I’m not looking.”

“And you will?”

“Nonetheless,” Onslaught continued, ignoring Motormaster. “don’t expect me to get friendly with him.” He said, referring to Hot Spot.

Hot Spot crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting the opposite.”

“As if you haven’t been.” Silverbolt chuckled. He knew they had some kind of rivalry between each other, just like him and Motormaster.

Hot Spots and Onslaught stared at him.

“What? I’m just stating the obvious. It’s not like I’ve been comforting Motormaster or anything.”

The black truck growled.

“Growl all you want, I’m not afraid.” Silverbolt looked at him, then turned away to face the two trucks, smiling softly. “I understand what’s going on with you two.”

“There’s nothing between us!” Hot Spot protested loudly, just in time when Onslaught barked. “I refuse to believe that!”

Silverbolt laughed, and he didn’t miss the slight chuckle Motormaster let out.

Onslaught glowered at him, but then sighed and looked away. Hot Spot just shoved still laughing Silverbolt away.

Motormaster instead shuffled away from the other truck. “Have you always been this disgusting?! Having a rivalry with an Autobot is one thing, having some feelings to an Autobot is another.”

“Have you always been this annoying?” spat Onslaught. “Where did you even get that idea?”

“The way you react to him, it gives it!”

Hot Spot and Silverbolt just watched them sparring words between each other. Well, Hot Spot didn’t deny that none of them was bad-looking, but Primus forbid if he had any romantic feelings towards a Decepticon. It would be even worse than fraternising with the enemy.

Silverbolt tapped his shoulder, then he turned to see the jet’s too amused face. “Cons can be stupid, see?” his amusement colouring his field.

Hot Spot blinked at him incredulously, then shook his head and settled down to watch.

**Author's Note:**

> *looks at the top note* *looks at the fic*  
> Okay it’s not only just about annoying teammates, it just kind of grew up.
> 
> I’m not putting this in Not Exactly for Combat because while it has Ons, the fic isn’t really Combaticon-centric.


End file.
